It’s depression season and my usual coping mechanisms are on the fritz, because apparently many of said mechanisms were based around a certain dog who is no longer with me.
So, I fell back on busy. I cleaned out my closet and got rid of bags and bags of stuff, and then started cleaning out my office.
I even managed to scoop up all the dog poop in the backyard. The dog is gone. The poop was not a fitting memorial and the baby flies that have been landing on me when I try to sit on the patio are not filling me with wonder regarding the circle of life.
I want the dog back. Not the flies.
“So, where the hell are the lemons?” you ask. “Or are you just being metaphorical?”
I was moping around the kitchen trying to figure out what to make for dinner. There’s a bag of Costco wild-caught salmon in my freezer and I considered it for a moment.
“But I don’t have any lemons,” I said to my freezer, because I no longer have a dog to talk to, and I would certainly never talk to myself. “I don’t like salmon without lemon. And I don’t want to go to the store. I’d have to put on shoes. Comb my hair. Leave the house.”
The freezer had no response.
With a sigh, I slammed the freezer door shut and wandered out to the living room, thinking about what I could make that wouldn’t require a trip to the store.
And I glanced out the patio door and saw . . . the lemon tree in my backyard.
When life hands me lemons, I don’t have to look for my car keys.
Not quite the cheerful little aphorism about lemonade, but it’s December and my dog died. This is the best I got right now.